(for you must, O daughter, take the juices of herbs and spices, which will be disclosed to you at the end of my holy treatise) — which the great god Helios Mithras commanded to be imparted to me by his archangel, so that I alone, a petitioner, might ascend into heaven and survey all things.

Two worlds meet in one sentence. Inside the parenthesis is a working magician's aside — take the juices of herbs and spices, cross-referenced to a recipe 'at the end of my holy treatise', the mundane pharmacy on which the cosmic flight depends. Around it is the grandest possible warrant: the whole procedure descends from the great god Helios Mithras, handed down through his archangel. The rite is careful to show its chain of authority, god to angel to magician to child. And here, once, the god is named Mithras — the only time in the whole text, and the reason the modern world calls this the 'Mithras Liturgy'. Fused already with the Greek sun as 'Helios Mithras', the Persian god of covenant stands behind the promise that the initiate, alone, may 'ascend into heaven and survey all' — the verb katopteúō, to look down from above, the god's-eye view the rest of the rite goes on to deliver. The 'holy treatise' framing also tells us what this text took itself to be: not a loose spell but scripture, with a recipe appendix.